Episode 08b, VS75 Ethical Considerations Part 2
by Voyager Season 7.5
Summary: In the aftermath of the Borg attack, a member of Voyager's crew takes on a mission that will change his entire life. cont'd


Episode 8b  
Ethical Considerations II  
  
  
Teaser  
The first sight to greet Sam as she dragged herself into her quarters was that   
of her daughter's willowy form, stretched out upon their couch, one arm curved   
over her eyes as if to block the light--not that there was much to block. The   
lighting was only at about the twenty percent level. Sam felt a little guilty at   
being relieved that Naomi was napping. The last thing she wanted to do was to   
talk to her about a certain young man who, she knew, would be a major topic of   
conversation if Naomi were awake. He always was--when he wasn't with them in the   
flesh. Today, the subject was far less palatable than it usually was. Sam crept   
as lightly as she could to her bedroom to remove her uniform and, possibly,   
stretch out for a nap herself.  
"How's Marla, Mom?"  
Sighing, Sam turned around to see Naomi struggling to sit up.  
"No change."  
Naomi shrugged, frowning. "I was afraid of that. If Icheb can't figure out how   
to adjust those nanoprobes to help her, she's never going to wake up, is she?"  
Biting her lower lip to hold back a reply she might regret, Sam matched Naomi's   
shrug with one of her own and sat down at the table before answering. "I don't   
know, Honey. The Doctor is working pretty hard to find an answer. Lieutenant   
Paris and I have been spending extra time in the lab doing research, too. I   
never thought I'd ever do that, let alone see Tom working in the lab! None of us   
are ready to give up on her, or Darren, either."  
"I know you won't, Mom," Naomi said, walking to her mother and giving her a big   
hug. Not for the first time, Sam thought about how brutal her exile in the Delta   
Quadrant would have been without having Naomi. She felt so sorry for her husband   
Greskrendtregk, who had been alone for so long. He hadn't even known he had a   
daughter for the first two and a half years of Naomi's life, and he still only   
had contact with her through data stream letters. Sam felt the familiar ache,   
longing to be together as a whole family, something that they had never had the   
chance to be.  
The warm family moment was shattered a bare instant later. "Mom, can we invite   
Icheb to dinner? I'm sure he could use a break, too. And you know he never eats   
unless I nag him."  
"Not tonight, Nomi. I'd like to have a quiet family dinner, just the two of us.   
We've both been working so hard, and we've had so little time to speak with each   
other alone together lately. I'd like to talk about your day, not Icheb's. What   
did you do today? Did you work on the circuitry with Vorik again?"  
"Yes, I worked with Vorik, but we were checking out the bioneural gel packs   
today. That's what I did. Not much to talk about, really. Now that we've talked   
about my day, can't we have Icheb over? I wanted him to help me study for my   
Academy entrance exams." Naomi's wheedling became a little sharp after the   
abrupt change of subject.  
Sam's voice level went up a notch. "Naomi, be sensible. I'm sure Icheb doesn't   
want you tagging along with him so much of the time. He needs to have some time   
for himself, too."  
" 'Tagging along'? What do you mean by that? Do you think I'm hanging onto him   
like some little kid?" Naomi's decibel level ratcheted higher.  
"Oh, please! If I want to find you, all I have to do is find out where Icheb is,   
and there you are!"  
"And is that so terrible? He's very intelligent! He helps me with my school   
work, and he keeps me company! And it keeps me from 'tagging along' with   
everyone else on this ship! I must really be bothering the adults on board if   
I'm bothering him!"  
"Don't start, Naomi. I just want some peace and quiet tonight. I've got a lot on   
my mind; I'm tired; and I don't want Icheb here tonight. That's all there is to   
it!" Sam stood up and walked to her doorway, seething as she pulled her tunic   
over her head to change into casual clothing. The last thing she needed tonight   
was Icheb simpering in her quarters, knowing what she did about what he was up   
to and not having screwed up the courage to go to the captain about it yet. In   
fact, what she should do tonight was go to the captain. Problem was, Sam   
couldn't be sure if Captain Janeway would come down hard on Icheb for using the   
med labs for his own experiments when he was supposed to be working on medical   
treatments for Gilmore and Pierce, or applaud him for finding a way to kill more   
Borg. And the not knowing which it might be upset Sam all the more.  
"If you're that tired, maybe I should just leave you alone and spend the evening   
with Icheb! I'll bet he wouldn't be bothered by my 'tagging along.' "  
Sam groaned, "I'm sorry I said anything at all about 'tagging along,' Naomi.   
Please, let's have a quiet evening here, all right?"  
"It'll be much quieter for you without me, Mom. Maybe I can help Icheb with his   
experiments in the med lab."  
"I don't want you anywhere near the med lab, Naomi." Sam shuddered involuntarily   
at the very thought.  
"Why not? I'm sure Icheb won't mind having me around!" Naomi's forehead and   
vestigial tusks burned brightly in her fury.  
"I won't have you part of what he's doing!"  
"I want to help him! He's trying to heal people."  
"Heal? Kill is more like it."  
"What are you saying? Icheb is working on a cure for Marla and Darren."  
All the discretion Sam had promised herself to maintain vanished as her anger   
blazed. "That's what he's supposed to be doing! Instead, he's hogging the lab,   
looking for a way to kill Borg drones without endangering his own precious   
hide."  
"Don't be so hateful! Icheb is brave! And he's not a murderer!"  
"I've seen his research! I know what he's doing!"  
The crimson drained from Naomi's face, leaving her pale and shaken. "I've got to   
go to him," Naomi said, running towards the door.  
"Please, Naomi! Don't . . ." Sam called out after her daughter as Naomi ran out   
into the corridor.  
At the doorway she stopped, appalled at the way she'd lost her temper and   
desperate to comfort her child in her moment of disillusionment. The words to   
call her daughter back died in her throat. She didn't want to see the   
proof--that Naomi would ignore her mother and run to that boy instead.  
Closing her eyes, Sam leaned her head against the doorjamb. She needed to go to   
sickbay, which was surely where Naomi was also headed, to get an analgesic for   
her pounding headache. But first, she had a duty to perform. The door closed   
behind her as she walked back into her quarters. Fetching her tunic, she pulled   
it back over her head and smoothed it over her hips. Once she was dressed, Sam   
took a few deep breaths and gathered herself together before saying, "Ensign   
Wildman to Captain Janeway."  
A moment later, a disembodied voice responded, :::Janeway here.:::  
"I need to see you right away, Captain."  
:::You sound upset. Is there something wrong, Samantha?:::  
"Yes, Captain."  
:::I'm in my ready room. Come as soon as you can.:::  
*^*^*^*^*  
Act 1  
Harry had no idea how many aliens he was fighting, but from the number of shots   
streaming at them. it was fairly safe to say his little away team was   
outnumbered at least five-to-one. Actually, only three were firing from their   
side. Early on, Tal had screamed when one of the lighting fixtures had crashed   
in front of her, collapsing the console behind which Angelo Tessoni was   
crouching. Ever since, no shots had come from Tessoni's position.  
That may have been a lucky shot on the part of the aliens, as unlucky as it was   
from Tessoni's point of view. Most of the time, the aliens fire was so scattered   
and off target, the real danger was from the sheer density of weapons emissions,   
not accurate shooting. Harry was tempted to think his perception that children   
were handling the weapons was accurate. It didn't really matter, though. Three   
more "lucky shots" were all that would be needed to decimate the away team.  
After hearing another yelp from Tal's position, Harry could no longer remain   
silent, even if saying something would reveal his position. With the comm badges   
deadened by the dampening field, the only way to check on his people was to call   
out to them. "Report your status! Tal? You okay?"  
"Flesh wound on the arm, sir. It's not bad."  
"Morrow?"  
From far left of Harry, Morrow said, "Ready for anything, sir."  
Harry wanted to grin but couldn't, not with energy discharges crackling around   
him and knowing who he had to call to next. "Tessoni?"  
High-pitched voices could be heard, but not Tessoni's warm baritone.  
So many lights in their immediate area had been broken, it was difficult to see   
anything in the dimness. Harry could see only a shadowy pile of metal where   
Tessoni had taken refuge. Harry called out "Tessoni?" again, but once again, the   
room would have been silent if not for the aliens' voices. At least the shooting   
stopped when Harry started calling out to his team. As Harry waited grimly for   
the response from Tessoni which never came, he realized the aliens' speech was   
occasionally coalescing into words he could recognize, such as "Over here," and   
what sounded like "Give up, Animal-Mechanical."  
When Harry realized the way the universal translator had transformed the last   
term, he had a sinking feeling. If the Voyager crew were being mistaken for whom   
he thought they were being taken for, no wonder everyone had shot madly, leaving   
the questions for later. When he heard another voice, in more of an alto than   
the soprano timbre he'd been hearing, he decided he had to try to do something   
to break the deadlock and save his people. Softly, he called out to his team,   
"Tal, Morrow . . . and Tessoni . . . hold your positions. Now that I'm starting   
to get translations that make some sense, I'm going to give myself up and see if   
I can talk to these people. If it seems like it's going badly, try to back out   
the way we came. See if you can get in the clear and transport back to the   
Flyer."  
Tal and Morrow replied, "Aye, sir." From Tessoni, nothing.  
Taking a deep gulp of air, Harry whispered to himself, "Here goes something--I   
hope." Laying down his phaser on the floor, he called out loudly, "Hello! Out   
there! Hold your fire! I'm surrendering!"  
Carefully, Harry rose to his feet, hands held high in the air. One more shot   
rang out, followed by a terse "Hold!" in one of the alto voices.  
When nothing else happened, Harry slowly moved forward and to his right,   
standing near enough to one of the remaining lights to show himself to the   
aliens. When he heard murmurs from all around him, he realized he'd acted just   
in time; they were on the verge of being surrounded. While most of what was   
being said around him was unintelligible, Harry suspected it was due to the soft   
volume of the speech, making it impossible for the universal translator to pick   
up what was being said rather than an inability to translate the words. He now   
could comprehend several phrases and sentences. One made him even more sure of   
the root of the attack. From the throat of a soprano positioned a good distance   
in front of him, Harry clearly heard, "You're right, Ralza! He's not a BioMech.   
He's just a giant!"  
Hands still held high above his head, Harry said, "I think we know your BioMech.   
We call them Borg. They are half men and half machine, right? And they say they   
are going to assimilate you, and add your technology to their own? And they   
steal your people when they take your technology?"  
The murmurs changed to something more suggestive of the buzz of people chatting   
before a performance begins than the angry, fearful comments he'd caught   
previously. Far in front of Harry, two figures came into view. Where they stood   
the light was better than it was over the area in which Voyagers crewmen had   
taken cover--but not much better. Harry's team had been shooting at the lights,   
trying to extinguish all they could, to camouflage an escape attempt through the   
hatch from which they had come. As the aliens slowly approached, an alto voice   
called out, "Strangers, we are sorry we mistook you for the BioMech. Or as you   
call them, the Borg. Please, forgive us."  
Harry called out to his team to stand up without their weapons. After a second's   
hesitation, Morrow and Tal both stood up. Morrow held his hands raised in   
imitation of Harry; only Tal's left hand was up, to about shoulder height. Her   
right hand was pressed against a wound in her upper left arm. There was no sign   
from Tessoni. Tal called out to Harry, "May I check on Angelo, sir?"  
Harry addressed the aliens. "Is it all right if my people assist one of my crew?   
He's been down for quite a while."  
The tallest of them, who by now were moving as a large group of twenty or so   
towards them, waved a hand. Harry took this as assent and nodded to Tal, giving   
her permission to move towards her crewmate. Gingerly, she walked towards   
Angelo, circling the pile of metallic wreckage to the front of the console, and   
gasped, "Oh, no! Ensign Kim, there's so much blood!"  
This time, Harry didn't ask the aliens for permission to move. Quickly, he   
tripped through the detritus of battle and knelt next to Tessoni. From the   
scarlet pool surrounding the crewman and the extensive head injury visible as   
soon as Harry got close, there wasn't much need to check for a pulse, although   
Harry did it anyway. Shaking his head sadly, Harry confirmed his diagnosis.   
Angelo Tessoni would send flowers or love notes to anyone ever again.  
From over Harry's shoulder Morrow asked, "He's dead, isn't he, sir?" It was more   
a statement than a question.  
"Yes."  
Standing up, Harry saw the crowd of aliens encircling their position--close to   
thirty, he could now see. The top of the head of the tallest barely reached to   
the level of Harry's bottom rib. Most were waist high or smaller, and the   
overwhelming majority were very young, if these beings aged in the way of most   
(but not all) species did. The tallest pair looked female, with wrinkled blue   
faces and frazzled steel-gray wiry hair on their heads. The rest of the aliens   
had smooth-textured powder blue skin surrounded by clouds of glossy hair, in   
shades varying from white to dark blue to purple. The Vulcan-like ears had tufts   
of hair on their pointed ends. From the way the eyebrows slanted up at a sharp   
angle and then down again, two sides of an equilateral triangle were formed   
which gave the aliens a perpetually startled look. In all respects, however, the   
alien beings were perfectly proportioned humanoids, despite their small stature.   
As unthreatening a race that Harry had ever encountered had caused the death of   
Angelo Tessoni--and all because the away team had been mistaken for Borg.  
Profoundly disturbed, Harry stared at his former adversaries, unable to bring   
forth any suitable First Contact greeting. Harry was sure that some admiral,   
somewhere, had come up with a comment appropriate to this sort of occasion in   
the past, but for the life of him, Harry couldn't recall what it might be. The   
Borg had a way of destroying First Contact protocols.  
One of the two women was comforting a tiny alien whose face was half-hidden   
beneath the taller one's arm. The youngster, as Harry assumed, began to sob. "We   
didn't mean it, Gratcha! We thought they were BioMech coming to kill us!"  
"I know, Gratchilli," the one who was called Gratcha murmured soothingly, gently   
stroking the youngster on its back, "but a life has been destroyed. We must make   
amends."  
One of the others, almost as tall as the two elders but with a face so young   
that Harry believed he was barely an adolescent, stepped forward. "I will accept   
the responsibility, Gratcha. I am the eldest. I was the leader. I detected the   
approach of the strangers and ordered the defense. I am the one who must offer   
his life."  
"No, Gratchil," Gratcha said. "It cannot be you. I will offer myself to this man   
. . . Sir? Is that your name?"  
"No. My name is Ensign Kim, of the Federation starship Voyager, Gratcha. 'Sir'   
is a term the members of my crew use for a superior officer. I am here with a   
small group of Voyager's crew. We thought your vessel was a derelict. We came to   
salvage parts."  
The group in front of him tittered as he spoke. Harry wondered if that was an   
expression of humor for this race, and if so, what it was they found so funny.   
He certainly didn't feel like laughing, with Angelo's body sprawled out in back   
of him.  
"Not Gratcha to you, Ensign Kim of the Federation starship Voyager. I am called   
Caryonna Varinyi Varost, one of the people known in this sector of space as the   
Pojzan. It is only to the young ones here in this farming bay I am Gratcha. They   
are all my 'gratchil' or my 'gratchilli'--the children of my brother and sister   
Pojzan. Many of the Pojzan have left life behind, as your Angelo has, to return   
to the soil. Ralza and I care for their children now."  
"They were killed by the BioMech?" Harry asked.  
"Yes," she replied succinctly.  
Harry shook his head sadly. "So this ship is full of orphans, looking for   
refuge?"  
"Yes, Ensign Kim. Our home planet was ravaged many years ago by the BioM . . .   
by the Borg. Afterwards, my people found a safe place, well hidden from the rest   
of the galaxy, and have been colonizing for the several years. There were more   
attacks on Pojza in the past year, and a decision was made to evacuate the last   
of us of our population there. On the way, our ship was attacked. Almost three   
thousand of us are still alive, but most of the survivors are children--many   
even younger than these--mere babies. The older ones, such as our gratchillian   
here, work to keep our farm bays productive, so we have food, and air to   
breathe."  
This mission kept getting worse. Harry hadn't anticipated he could feel even   
more depressed than when he'd first confirmed Angelo's death. He was wrong.  
The Pojzan woman bent down, rubbing her chin on the top of the head of the   
"gratchilli" who was clutching Caryonna's waist tightly and weeping   
inconsolably. Passing her on to the other adult, who was apparently Ralza,   
Caryonna did the same to another child, and then another. One by one, the   
"gratchillian" walked past her in single file, each to be rubbed in the same   
fashion. Ralza received each child in turn afterwards, giving him or her a quick   
hug. Those who had completed this strange ritual clung to each other in little   
groups, many crying openly.  
Harry, puzzled by this display, pondered what he could remember of the   
conversation which preceded it. When he finally realized what must be going on,   
he was appalled.  
"Wait a minute. This 'offering a life'? Do you think I'm supposed to kill you   
for killing Angelo?" Harry asked.  
"It is our way, to offer a life for a stolen life," Ralza said sadly.  
"It isn't our way when it happens like this. Your children thought we would be a   
danger to your people and acted to protect themselves. And it's our fault as   
much as yours for blundering in here and frightening your children.   
Unfortunately, we never got an answer to our hails and offers of assistance when   
we tried to contact you, and we couldn't detect your life signs. We thought no   
one was here. This was a tragic accident. You owe us nothing."  
The two adults looked at each other. Although Harry had never met this species   
before today, he recognized relief when he saw it. Caryonna finally said sadly,   
"Oh, Ensign Kim, this has been a terrible day of mistakes indeed! It is clear   
you are civilized people if you understand to give back the life offered you! We   
could not answer your messages; we never heard them, nor could we reply to them   
if we did. Our outside communication systems no longer work. If they did, your   
Angelo would not have returned to the soil!"  
Weakly, Harry shrugged. "We know what you thought you were facing. The Borg   
attacked our ship only a few days ago."  
"And we have been drifting in space for many days now since the last attack on   
our ship, making those repairs we can. Almost everyone with technical knowledge   
concerning our systems was lost. We had almost given up h . . ." She caught   
herself. Glancing around at the uplifted faces of the children surrounding them,   
she went on more discreetly, "We need to speak with you in detail about the   
situation here--privately. Perhaps you can still assist us. That is, if you are   
willing, since we killed your friend."  
Harry glanced back at Angelo's body. A sudden memory stabbed him of Seven when   
they were together on the Nightingale, advising him to be careful about blindly   
accepting what the Kraylor told him. Harry quickly shook it off. This was a   
totally different situation, he knew in his gut. He only had to look at the   
small faces surrounding him to know that these people were telling the truth.   
They were a small remnant of the galaxy's population, trying to escape to a   
place where they could live in peace.  
"Of course we'll still help you, but first, will you drop the energy shield   
operating here so that we may transport Angelo's body back to the ship we came   
in? Tal--you go, too. Have that arm looked at, and help Noah put Angelo's body   
in the stasis chamber."  
"If you wish, we will return Angelo's body to the soil, in the way of our   
people. It will be done with due ceremony," Ralza said.  
"Thanks for the offer, but no. It is our custom to return a body of a lost crew   
member to Voyager, whenever we can. Our captain will lead a ceremony for him   
there."  
Caryonna and Ralza bowed there heads. Some customs seemed to be almost   
universal, and bowing the head in respect seemed to be one of them. The bent   
position of the head, however, brought something else to Harry's mind.  
"We have another member of our team," Harry explained. "He stayed behind because   
he's even more of a giant than we are. He didn't fit through your corridors very   
well. I told him we would send for him when we knew there was no danger. Is it   
all right if he came over? I'd like Noah to look at your systems with us; see if   
we can do anything to help you."  
"Of course, Ensign Kim. We assure you; there is no more danger for your people   
here. Let me bring you to Lyria Tason Ladreil. She is our 'senior officer,' as   
you put it. We have much to discuss."  
Harry turned to Tal and whispered, "After you put Angelo into the stasis tube in   
the lower compartment, stay on the Flyer. Call the captain right away and let   
her know in brief what happened. Tell her I'll make a complete report later. But   
if we don't check in with you in half an hour, get out of this area immediately.   
Then contact Voyager and report everything."  
She nodded, biting her lip, tears welling into her eyes.  
"Are you okay, Tal?" Harry asked quietly.  
"I'll be fine, sir. I was just thinking . . . I was wondering what one of those   
sickening-sweet love notes would have been like. It's been a while, you know? I   
wouldn't have minded getting one." Daubing beneath her eyes, she apologized   
huskily, "Some professional I am. Look at the way I'm blubbering."  
Harry brushed her unhurt arm sympathetically, the way he was sure the captain   
would have, had she been there. "No problem, Tal. You're doing fine. I just wish   
you'd had the chance to find out, too."  
*^*^*^*^*  
Act 2  
All the way to the medical labs, Naomi tried to convince herself her mother had   
been mistaken somehow. Tired and cranky--that was it. Her mother couldn't be   
right about Icheb. Finding a way to kill the Borg was something that everyone   
wanted, right? Even though, deep in her heart, Naomi couldn't believe that the   
answer to the Borg menace was just to kill them all. The Queen, that was one   
thing, She was terribly mean. But all of them? That didn't seem right somehow.  
Most of the time when she thought about Borg drones, Naomi didn't visualize the   
awful ones like those who'd torn apart five of the crew only days before.   
Instead, she saw the faces of Seven and Icheb; Mezoti, Azan and Rebi; and Marika   
Wilkarah, P'Chan, and the older male she'd never learned the name of who were   
one-time members of Seven's Borg Unimatrix.  
Naomi had been pretty little then, but she remembered Marika, the former Bajoran   
Starfleet officer assimilated at Wolf 359 from the USS Excaliber, who had spent   
the last few weeks of her life on Voyager. After P'Chan, the other male, and   
Marika had been severed from the Collective, they continued to share each   
other's thoughts until the EMH removed microcortical implants from their brains.   
The price they paid for living as individuals without hearing each other was to   
die as individuals only a few weeks later.  
Naomi hadn't thought much about it when she was a child, but now she realized   
Marika had been around so much because her mother must have been assigned to   
care for Marika during her last illness. Once she found out she was dying,   
Marika asked to end her days on a Federation starship, spending most of her   
waking hours during those final few weeks recording a log of her adventures,   
both as Three of Nine and as her individual self.  
Marika had visited with the Wildmans often, sharing stories about her life   
before assimilation, on Bajor with her husband as well as her career in   
Starfleet. Although terminally ill the entire time Naomi knew her, the Bajoran   
woman never had expressed any bitterness about her fate, once Marika forgave   
Seven for forcing her to remain part of the Collective years before. Although   
the time was short, Marika had been able to return to the life in Starfleet she   
loved, free to keep her thoughts to herself or share them with others if she   
chose. She knew her husband had been killed at Wolf 359, too, and was sure they   
would be reunited after death in the presence of the Prophets.  
Naomi remembered feeling happy as well as sad at Marika's funeral, for the first   
time aware that funerals were about celebrating a life as well as mourning a   
death. That was also the day Naomi knew her desire to be the "captain's   
assistant" wasn't only a child's game, but stemmed from a true desire to make   
her own career in Starfleet. It was one of the pivotal events of her childhood.  
So, to just kill all the Borg indiscriminately? No! Naomi didn't want that. What   
the captain, Commander Tuvok, Lieutenant Torres, and Seven had done, along with   
Axum, Korok and the others in Unimatrix Zero--that's what she wanted to see.   
What Marika, P'Chan and the other "Nine" had found, even though they didn't have   
long to enjoy it, was better than complete destruction. It wasn't death but   
freedom from the Collective, freedom to be themselves and stop doing evil things   
to other beings that Borg drones needed. Surely Icheb, as a freed drone himself,   
would feel the same way.  
The door to the medical lab was open when Naomi arrived. It usually was, since   
the EMH and the medical staff had to walk in and out all day and preferred   
leaving it ajar to save energy--an old habit on Voyager now, but still just as   
essential.  
Naomi stopped just outside the threshold, standing where she could see Icheb's   
profile as he worked at his station. Whenever he turned his face in her   
direction, his expression was so strange . . . so intense . . . so . . .   
determined. And it was a grim sort of determined, not like the look on the faces   
of the EMH or Lieutenant Paris at work. Naomi had seen them there often enough   
when her mother was assignment as a field medic. A chill came over Naomi as she   
watched her friend, the realization growing that her mother might very well be   
right. He looked more like a person working on something lethal, rather than   
someone searching for a cure for those threatened with sleeping their lives   
away.  
Naomi was barely conscious of her automatic response to Crewman Sofin's greeting   
when he limped by Naomi on his way into Sickbay to see Marla, but the sound drew   
Icheb's attention toward the doorway. He saw her. He did not look pleased, the   
way he usually did when she came to see him.  
"Naomi," he said. "I have already ingested a nutritional supplement. I do not   
plan to go to dinner in the mess hall tonight."  
She nodded, still on autopilot as she walked into the lab. "That's okay. I'm not   
very hungry myself." She tried to be casual as she strolled over to his station,   
perching herself on the stool next to his. "What are you working on?" Her throat   
was so dry, the words seemed to croak out of her mouth. Icheb seemed not to   
notice.  
"I'm testing these nanoprobes to make sure the genetic material with which they   
have been encoded are functioning efficiently."  
"I see. Are these the healing nanoprobes you've been working on to cure Marla   
and Darren? Or are these the ones for killing all the Borg drones . . .   
efficiently?"  
She could barely believe it had slipped out so easily like that, raspy throat   
and all. His eyes widened slightly; and his frown deepened; but he didn't say   
what she wanted him to say--that of course, these are for healing our crewmates.   
Instead, he said seriously, "For the good of the galaxy, the Borg must be   
stopped. If that means all Borg drones must die, then we must find a way to do   
that."  
"No, Icheb, that's not the answer! The drones are like Seven and Mezoti and you!   
They're victims of the Borg, just as much as anyone else is! They can't break   
free of the Collective by themselves. Most of them couldn't even escape to   
Unimatrix Zero, the way Seven and her friend Axum did! Even the Borg Queen must   
have been assimilated against her will. When drones attack us, we have to fight   
back and kill them to save ourselves, but that's self defense. It's not the same   
thing as simply murdering them all!"  
Icheb's head was down, his gaze fastened at the surface of the lab bench. He was   
struggling with what she was saying--she hoped. Surely he would agree with her!  
Her hopes were dashed when he said, "In a way, you are right, but yours is an   
idealistic view."  
"What's wrong with being idealistic?"  
His eyes met hers. "Naomi, the Borg can adapt to any weapons we have discovered.   
The only thing that can stop them is a weapon to which they cannot adapt because   
they die before they have time to adapt to it. I have a theory on the way to do   
that, but I have yet to perfected it. I must continue my research."  
"If this weapon is dangerous to the Borg, won't it be dangerous to everyone on   
Voyager, too?"  
"No. It is a virus that destroys the drone's link to the Collective, and then   
destroys the implants themselves. It cannot harm anyone on Voyager."  
"Unless they have implants--like you and Seven. Can it be dangerous to the two   
of you?"  
Icheb looked away, withdrawing from her. Naomi became more and more upset as she   
waited for his answer and none came. It was dangerous to Seven and Icheb, then,   
and he didn't want to admit it. Jumping off the stool, she pushed against   
Icheb's shoulders, rolling his seat away from the bench, forcing him to stop   
because he couldn't reach his work. "Please think about what you're doing,   
Icheb! I can't let you endanger yourself like this! I couldn't stand it if I   
lost you!"  
She heaved him back once more. He slid off the stool but held his ground. Naomi   
was pressed so close to Icheb, with his every breath she could feel his chest   
move. Finally, Icheb grabbed her by the upper arms and moved her to one side,   
away from the bench; but when she was moved far enough back for him to turn   
around to his work, he stopped. As if spellbound, he held her, gazing down at   
her, as if searching for something he had spent a lifetime seeking but had never   
found.  
Staring up into his face, Naomi experienced one of the defining moments of her   
life, one she would remember to the end of her days. Her feelings for Icheb were   
greater than she'd felt for her friends Mezoti, Azan and Rebi; stronger than her   
admiration for Seven or the captain; greater, even, than her love for Neelix.   
This was love, too, but not of a sort she'd ever known before--not the kind she   
felt for her mother, although it was just as great as that. This was Love. At   
that moment, she finally understood what those looks she had seen on Icheb's   
face when he was with her meant, because one very similar must be on her face   
right then. That silly flip her stomach made whenever she saw Icheb was   
perfectly understandable. She, Naomi Wildman, had found the love of her life.  
And what was even more important, perhaps, was that Icheb felt the same way   
about her. She was sure of it. She could see it in his eyes.  
But, oh! What a terrible time to find this out, when he was trying to do   
something so terrible! Or was it not really terrible, but necessary? Naomi's   
thoughts jumbled around in her head. She wasn't sure what to say or do, until,   
without thinking, she felt her body sink against his, her face buried into his   
shoulder.  
"Please, Icheb. Promise you'll try to find another way. I couldn't stand it if   
you . . . if you were a murderer," she mumbled, as sobs ripped out of her. Then   
she backed away, averting her burning eyes as tears poured down her cheeks. She   
couldn't meet his shocked gaze as she ran out of the lab, leaving him to stare   
after her, his face contorted in pain.  
*^*^*^*^*  
::: They were attacked by the Borg, Captain. The Pojzan call them the "BioMech."   
More than a quarter of their vessel's people were lost. About eighty percent of   
their people are children or adolescents, almost all of them orphaned. Half of   
the remaining adults are caring for the toddlers and very young kids. In fact,   
this ship has so many children on board right now, the boy in charge of the ones   
who mistook us for Borg was a little younger than Icheb. The ship's officers   
died when the bridge was stolen. The people on this vessel come from the farming   
and handicraft region of Pojza, and the only ones with any technical knowledge   
at all are a few older people who'd retired there. Thanks to the hydroponics   
farms, they have food and oxygen. What they don't have is a dependable power   
source, unless they can get what they call their zeta drive going again.  
:::Captain, their 'expert' on the zeta drive is Lyria. She's a ninety-eight year   
old woman who last served on one of their vessels forty-two years ago! Her   
knowledge is so out of date, it isn't funny. They aren't going to survive   
without our help. And this isn't another situation like the Kraylor, Captain.   
There's no hidden agenda. They just want to reach their colony, New Pojza, so   
they can keep themselves and their children safe.:::  
"Voyager can rendezvous with you tomorrow, Harry. B'Elanna is almost finished   
with her diagnostics."  
:::Captain, they don't really want that. Their colony is hidden away inside a   
nebula, about ten light years from their current position.:::  
Reflexively, she glanced out her viewport, over the head of Samantha Wildman,   
with whom she had been speaking when Harry's message had come through. A smudge   
of nebula was visible in the right corner. That had to be the one. "They don't   
want our help reaching the nebula?"  
:::They'd prefer to keep the secret of the way inside to as few as possible. I   
think we can help them get there, Captain. Noah and I have gone over their ship.   
The Borg didn't steal their propulsion or computer systems. I guess they weren't   
considered 'superior' enough for the Borg to bother with, but without the   
bridge, the Pojzan can't go anywhere. They'll just float in space until the   
energy to power their shields and life support system gives out, and that'll be   
all she wrote. Noah and I think we've got their propulsion system figured out.   
We have the specs we need from Lyria to program the replicators. There should be   
enough energy to make up the parts they need to get the auxiliary navigation   
system in their engine room working. But if we make their parts, we won't be   
bringing much back with us. In fact, we're going to be using up a lot of our   
reserve energy resources.:::  
"That's the way things go sometimes. You're on a mission of mercy now, Harry. I   
trust your judgment."  
"Thanks, Captain. You know, there's another thing I think I should report. It's   
odd, but the Borg that attacked the ship didn't try to assimilate anyone.:::  
Janeway exchanges glances with Sam Wildman. "Sounds like more of the ones who   
attacked us the other day, Harry," the captain said.  
:::I don't think so. The way the Pojza described them, these Borg weren't very   
efficient. They didn't work systematically, as one. The Pojzan say they shouted   
to each other to communicate. Their gear and outfits sounded pretty ratty, and   
the Pojzans said they had to clean up their ship after they finally left,   
because the stink was so bad.:::  
"To some races, humans--or even a rose--smell bad."  
:::We seem to agree on what does and doesn't smell good, though, Captain. They   
said it reminded them of the odor of rotting flesh. Pretty gross.:::  
Rubbing her forehead to avert the migraine she could feel forming, Janeway   
sighed. Bad smelling Borg. As if they weren't already a nightmare come to life !  
"I'm not eager to run into them again anyway, Harry. I don't think it matters   
much if they shout each other or smell bad. Not to change the subject, but when   
do you expect to get back? It sounds like you're going to be gone for several   
more days."  
:::Yes, Captain, with your permission, I'd like to accompany the Pojzan to their   
sanctuary, to make sure they get there all right. If there are problems with   
their nav system, I think we can 'lighten' their ship using their own technology   
so we can use the Flyer's tractor beam to drag them where they need to go.:::  
"Permission granted, Ensign Kim," Janeway said, formally, for the benefit of the   
ship's auto logging system. "And Harry--about the supplies, don't worry about   
it. We'll take care of our supply situation another day."  
:::Thanks, Captain. One last thing. The Pojzan offered to take Angelo's body to   
New Pojza to 'make him one with the soil.' I told them we're bringing him back   
with us, in stasis. You agree, don't you?:::  
"Do Mr. Lessing or Morrow think he'd prefer to have his body stay with the   
Pojzan?"  
:::Actually, no. Noah says Angelo was from an old Starfleet family. He'd want   
the photon tube casket shot into space, with the Federation flag on top, and all   
that. You know--the traditional Starfleet funeral ceremony. It was something   
they talked about a lot on the Equinox, Noah says. So we planned on bringing his   
body back to Voyager. There'll be a delay before the service can be held,   
though, until we get back.:::  
"It sounds like Mr. Tessoni wouldn't mind the delay, Harry. Finish your mission.   
Then we'll worry about ceremonies."  
:::That's about it, Captain. I'll check in again at the next scheduled time.:::  
"Do that, Ensign. Janeway out."  
As Harry's disembodied voice signing off faded, Ensign Wildman unfolded herself   
from the ready room couch, where she'd seated herself when Harry's call   
interrupted her conversation with the captain. "After what Harry and the away   
team have been through, I'm afraid my complaints about Icheb seem pretty silly."  
"Not at all. You must realize that if Icheb has invented a weapon with the   
potential to remove the Borg threat forever, I have to allow him to develop it,   
for our own safety, as well as for people like Harry's Pojzan. If he's worked on   
it under false pretenses when he was assigned to research a treatment for   
Gilmore's and Pierce's comas, however, that's a separate issue. I can't condone   
dereliction of duty, no matter how valuable this other research might prove to   
be. I'll call him in and talk about it with him. You were right to come to me."  
" Thank you for listening, Captain."  
"About that fight with Naomi, though? I'm not sure if I can do anything about   
that. In fact, it sounds an awful lot like an argument or two I had with my own   
mother when I was growing up in Indiana, too many years ago for me to even want   
to count them."  
Ensign Wildman sighed, smiling. "Me, too, I'm afraid. It's just so difficult out   
here. It isn't like any of us can get away from each other when we're traveling   
on a small ship. We have to work it out somehow. I just wish my husband were   
here at times like this to share the burden--and the joys, too."  
"Of course. You'll find a way to solve your problem, Samantha. I'm sure of it. I   
can't promise you won't ever argue with your daughter again."  
"You'd do better to promise me it will happen again, because I'm sure it will!   
I'm just not used to thinking of her as an adolescent! But Neelix says I need   
to."  
"And Neelix is usually right about these things!"  
After dismissing Ensign Wildman, Janeway stood up to stretch her legs, cramped   
from spending so much time at her desk while she read reports. Her mind wasn't   
on reports tonight, however. It was too filled with visions of the dead and   
living crew of the Equinox, that truly star-crossed ship--far more unlucky than   
Voyager had been, in truth, although Janeway seldom admitted that to anyone,   
even herself. Images also appeared of small, blue-skinned humanoids in such   
desperate straits that only her youngest senior staff officer and his team were   
in a position to assist, even though his team was now short a member.  
Janeway squatted down in the area of her ready room that had sported a hull   
breach only a couple of days before. She brushed her hand over the carpet,   
feeling for a seam or fibers out of place, but she could not detect exactly   
where the intact section ended and the patch began. Somehow, it didn't seem   
right that no trace remained to remind her where Angelo Tessoni had mended it   
because his work had been so well done. There was a conundrum for you.  
Janeway sighed deeply. From an old Starfleet family. Of course. She knew   
Giovanna Tessoni. His older sister, perhaps? Maybe his cousin or aunt, but   
definitely not his mother. Commander Tessoni wasn't old enough to be his mother.   
She could look it up--too bad she'd never bothered before. What else hadn't she   
known about him? About any of them?  
Janeway hated thinking of "The Odyssey" at times like this, even though she   
always thought of it whenever a member of her crew was lost. There was a great   
deal of similarity between that classic tale and Voyager's. It had a   
satisfactory ending--for Odysseus. He was the only one who made it back home in   
Homer's epic. That part she didn't like. She despised the ending, in fact,   
preferring never to think of it because it tormented her with her deepest fear:   
to get all the way home, but without her crew. That would be a Pyrrhic victory   
indeed.  
Her headache had kicked up a notch. She'd have to replicate herself a suitable   
remedy or take the time to go to the EMH for an analgesic. Too bad it wouldn't   
work on the pain in her heart--or her conscience. For that, she'd never found a   
cure.  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
As soon as Icheb slumped into Sickbay, Tom knew the young man wasn't in need of   
a field medic. It was going to be "advice to the lovelorn" time again in   
Sickbay. Limp posture, dull eyes, a small sigh or even a moan or two from   
someone who was trying to be brave when his heart had been shattered into tiny   
little pieces--Tom knew the signs all too well. Harry Kim had been the most   
frequent recipient of Tom's benevolent counsel, but many others, including   
Voyager's own Emergency Medical Hologram, had come to value Mr. Paris'   
expertise.  
That Icheb was next in a long line of seekers of knowledge regarding the repair   
of broken hearts was no surprise to Tom. He'd been half-expecting it. The   
identity of the one who had inflicted this melancholy state upon Icheb was   
hardly a surprise, either. He'd have to have been an unperceptive dolt not to   
know Naomi Wildman must be at the bottom of this. And, his reputation to the   
contrary, Tom was not an unperceptive dolt, especially when it came to romance.  
Tom Paris had spent many years cultivating a rakish, devil-may-care attitude to   
disguise the fact that he was, in fact, a genuine, old-fashioned sap when it   
came to love. In this guise he was able to avoid revealing how supremely easily   
he could be hurt by the rejection by a potential lover.  
One of the most precious aspects of the love he shared with his wife, since both   
utilized similar mechanisms for protecting themselves from such pain, was that   
their mutual love made it possible for them to drop the facade of not caring   
about each other. They could express their tenderly romantic emotions brazenly,   
in ways their shipmates often laughed at as idiotic, sophomoric, and silly--due,   
primarily, to these self-same shipmates disguising their own overwhelming   
jealousy over the fact that they had no one to act as idiotically,   
sophomorically, and ridiculously romantic towards them.  
Fortunately for his friends aboard Voyager, finding love had not caused Tom   
Paris to turn his back upon those who had failed to find such happiness.   
Moreover, he had both a very long memory and the willingness to share his   
experiences to assist those who needed his guidance.  
Thus, when Icheb wandered into Sickbay that evening, Tom remained silent only so   
long as it took to once again check the vital signs and neural readings of the   
unnaturally slumbering Marla Gilmore before saying, "You've got signs of heart   
trouble, my friend. Care to describe your symptoms to me?"  
"Naomi hates me."  
Tom's first impulse to laugh was ruthlessly stifled. He knew that would make the   
poor kid clam up totally. Pulling himself together while checking the readings   
from Darren Pierce's neural monitor, he substituted, "What makes you think   
that?"  
"She ran out of the medical lab when she found out . . ." Icheb's morose   
recitation trailed off before he could finish his thought.  
"Found out what?"  
Icheb glanced over at Brian Sofin, who was perched on a stool between the   
biobeds of Marla and Darren, reading a technical journal article to his   
uncomplaining audience. Leaning close to Tom, he whispered, "She found out I was   
working on a way to kill all Borg drones instead of a cure for the coma   
victims."  
That totally unexpected sentence shook Tom. Involuntarily, his gaze slipped over   
to Marla and Darren Pierce; then to Sofin, who continued reading without any   
hesitation, apparently not having heard what Icheb had said; before it alighted   
upon the young man's face again. Icheb looked miserable, mitigating Tom's   
initial reaction of extreme disappointment from learning that that the cure   
everyone had been so hopeful Icheb would discover was not even close to becoming   
a reality.  
Motioning Icheb to follow him, Tom stepped into the Doctor's private office and   
took a seat at the EMH's desk, a solemn expression upon his face. Icheb followed   
Tom into the office and took the seat opposite Tom. Once Icheb had settled into   
the chair, Tom asked him, "So, your reports to the Doctor that you were getting   
closer to making a breakthrough were false?"  
Icheb responded silently, with a nod and an even more downcast expression than   
the one he'd displayed when he first entered Sickbay. This sort of heartsickness   
was not the kind Tom felt as confident in handling as the more familiar,   
love-induced variety. A quick check of the chronometer on the Doctor's desk   
informed Tom that assistance dealing with this problem would not be arriving   
expeditiously, however. Dealing with this would be up to him.  
"B'Elanna is running a diagnostic on the EMH in the holographic lab, Icheb. It   
should take another hour or so. Maybe you should wait to make a complete report   
to him. After all, if the cure you were hoping to find isn't possible, and you   
decided to work on this other . . . project, we'd all understand."  
"I don't know if a cure is possible or not. I find it difficult to concentrate   
ever since the Queen began to speak to me, and even though she isn't any more, I   
find myself going off on tangents I should not follow."  
"I see. Well, I'm the senior 'doc' on duty, with the EMH off-line. Maybe if you   
tell me about it, we can find a way to keep you on track."  
As Icheb described the paths his research had taken and his disagreement with   
Naomi over his plans for the killer nanoprobes, Tom's ambivalence grew.   
Observing Icheb himself or thinking about Seven made Tom sympathetic towards   
Naomi's position, but while Tom applauded her compassion, he could readily   
comprehend why Icheb could find research in ways that could end the Borg threat   
forever to be compelling.  
"So far, you've been able to find a way for the modified nanoprobes to destroy   
the connection between drones so they could function independently, like you do   
now?"  
"Yes, Lieutenant Paris. The transceivers and cortical node cannot be activated,   
so the affected drones cannot act upon the Queen's commands. However, when the   
transceiver and cortical nodes are disrupted in this way, they will emit an   
unknown amount of energy, damaging the neural pathways as the connections fail.   
Another problem is that I cannot seem to find a way for this virus to be   
transmitted over distances, even though the Queen has been able to control   
drones in this manner. It does not matter anyway. Naomi does not want me to try   
this technique. She wants the drones to all become individuals. She believes   
they will no longer hurt anyone if this happens."  
"I'm not sure that one would follow the other automatically. I remember Seven   
clunking Harry on the head and trying to recontact the Collective when she first   
made the transition from Borg to individual."  
"I do not recall Seven ever telling me that story," Icheb said, brightening a   
little for the first time. "I will have to ask her about it."  
"Just so you don't ask Harry. He's a little sensitive about the episode. But   
that's not going to help you with your problem anyway, Icheb. You need to find a   
way to stop the damage from happening--or heal it if it does. I remember the Doc   
calling nanoprobes 'efficient little healers' many times. Can you use them to   
heal the damage done to the neural passages when the connections are severed?   
Maybe even find a way to heal that obsession about hogging all the technology in   
the quadrant at the same time?"  
Icheb, fortunately, ignored the facetious part of Tom's question and responded   
to the vital issue. "If I could do that, I should be able to find a way to heal   
the brains of Crewmen Gilmore and Pierce. But I can't seem to do that."  
"You keep getting distracted by the Holy Grail of finding a way to make the   
nanoprobes more efficient killers, you mean?"  
"By inserting the virus in my DNA into nanoprobes. Yes, Lieutenant."  
"Too bad you couldn't insert something from the immune system instead. Make   
those 'efficient little healers' even more efficient. The Borg love efficiency,   
right? I'd love to see them hoist by their own petard . . . Icheb, are you   
listening to me?"  
"Immune system. Of course. The nanoprobes are already excellent at healing   
tissue, but if I insert specific base pairs from the DNA of organisms which have   
superlative immune systems into the nanoprobes . . . Lieutenant Paris, I may   
have found the solution! And I cannot believe I missed it before! It is so   
obvious . . . "  
"I think you've had a lot on your mind, Icheb, that's all. Like a certain   
strawberry blond with a very cute forehead, maybe?"  
That brought a quick, genuine smile to Icheb's face, along with a rosy flush to   
his skin.  
"So," Tom said, "if you get those lean and mean nanoprobes to heal the damage   
from the severed connections, maybe that Borg weapon of yours could have a shot   
at keeping drones from becoming just as pigheaded as individuals as they are as   
a Collective."  
"Lieutenant Paris, my idea about improving the healing power of the nanoprobes   
doesn't have anything to do with a weapon against the Borg. Not directly, at   
least. If I can improve their healing power and get them working more   
efficiently on the neural system, my research may yet turn out to be beneficial   
to Crewmen Gilmore and Pierce."  
Tom stared at Icheb for a second, then jumped up and pulled Icheb to his feet.   
"Well, then, Icheb, what are you waiting for? Get into that medical lab and   
start inserting DNA into those nanoprobes, young man!"  
Before Icheb had taken two steps, the comm system activated. :::Icheb, come to   
my ready room. Immediately.:::  
"Yes, Captain Janeway," Icheb responded. Turning towards Tom, he added,   
despairingly, "Naomi must have reported what I did to the captain. Lieutenant   
Paris, she must really hate me. And the captain must hate me, too."  
Tom sincerely doubted that the captain would be as upset about Borg-murdering   
nanoprobes as Naomi had been, but there was no mistaking Janeway's tone. Even   
through the comm system, the ice in her voice had been unmistakable. Motioning   
Icheb to precede him out of the Doctor's office and clasping him comfortingly on   
the shoulder, Tom advised, "There's one thing I've learned about being called on   
the carpet, Icheb. You just square your shoulders, stand up straight, and take   
your punishment like a man. If you're going to be disciplined anyway, obsessing   
about who reported you or who hates you isn't going to make it any easier. Just   
go and get it over with. I should know. I've been on that carpet lots of times."  
Dejected but resolute, Icheb replied, "I will remember, Lieutenant. And thank   
you for your advice."  
"If you find a way to make those nanoprobes heal Marla and Darren, I'll thank   
you, Icheb. So will the captain--and so will Naomi. You'll see."  
Straightening his shoulders and standing tall, Icheb marched out of Sickbay   
without a backward glance.  
Tom looked back, however, at the only two bodies occupying biobeds at the   
moment, silently enduring Brian Sofin's rendition of "Twenty Ways to Improve   
Warp Core Efficiency" by Commander Geordi LaForge. Tom winced. That was reading   
material calculated to keep the two patients asleep, not wake them up. Tom   
fantasized that one day, he would be able to commiserate with Darren and Marla,   
who both would be complaining loudly about Mr. Sofin's choice of reading   
material on this particular evening.  
For Tom, that day couldn't come too soon.  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
When Icheb entered the captain's ready room, he feared he would see an   
accusatory Naomi standing next to her. It turned out to be worse. Seven was the   
one standing there, with a glare equal to the captain's, and the first to   
interrogate him. "Icheb, you received an assignment from the Doctor. You were   
told to find a treatment for the members of this crew who had sustained serious   
brain trauma during the recent Borg attacks. You were to report to him. How   
often did you do so? What did you report concerning your findings? And last, but   
not least, supply a complete explanation of how you budgeted your time in the   
medical labs."  
Remembering Lieutenant Paris' advice, Icheb told the simple, hard, disgraceful   
truth, adding at the end, "I am sorry, Captain. I should have tried harder to   
resist being distracted by other research when I promised to search for a cure   
for Crewmen Gilmore and Pierce. I became obsessed with finding a way to kill the   
Borg efficiently."  
The captain and Seven exchanged telling glances as Captain Janeway stood up and   
began to pace back and forth in front of her desk as she lectured Icheb. "I am   
not unfamiliar with people with obsessions, Icheb, nor can I say I'm as   
disturbed as some on this ship about the nature of your other research.   
Desperate times call for desperate measures. If you have found a way to   
exterminate the Borg, if they try to destroy us again, I cannot promise I will   
not use your findings to protect us all. However, I cannot and will not condone   
your pursuit of this course of inquiry when you were assigned another task which   
is vital to the welfare of this ship and two of its crew, both of whom acted   
heroically to defend this ship from invaders. To protect you, Icheb, and every   
other soul on Voyager, they did their duty at great personal harm to   
themselves." She paused and faced him, sending him a withering glare that caused   
the young man's shoulders to droop visibly. "There is a time for everything,   
Icheb, but I do not know how much time either of them have to wait for a   
treatment before their neurological deterioration is such that no cure will be   
feasible. Do you understand what I'm saying?"  
Chastened, Icheb lowered his head. "Yes, Captain."  
"Since you are not making any progress on a cure, I order you to turn over your   
results to Seven. Report to Engineering tomorrow at . . . "  
"Captain, may I speak?" Icheb interrupted.  
Seven sternly raised a disapproving eyebrow, but the captain nodded permission.  
"I was in Sickbay, discussing the problem with Lieutenant Paris, just before you   
called me here. Something he said made me think of another possibility I had not   
considered. I believe this could lead to a breakthrough in my research. I would   
like to return to the medical lab to investigate this avenue."  
"How would the captain know you are working on this 'avenue,' rather than your   
pet project?" Seven asked.  
"If I report to the Doctor at least twice during every shift, I believe I will   
be able to work on the problem with greater focus. An assistant working along   
with me could serve a similar purpose. Captain, I am ashamed that my behavior   
could endanger Crewman Gilmore and Crewman Pierce, and that my only solution to   
the problem of the Borg was to try to find a way to kill them all. I believe   
Naomi is right; there must be another way to wreck the Collective without   
killing all drones. I would still like to find it--but I promise not to continue   
my search until I have either found a cure for the comatose or am satisfied that   
I will be unable to find one. Is that acceptable, Captain?"  
The captain considered the problem for a short time and said, "It is acceptable.   
I will ask Commander Tuvok to take possession of all your data pertaining to the   
nanoprobes modified as weapons against the Borg. You may continue your medical   
investigations."  
"Thank you, Captain."  
"One other thing. If you're under Tuvok's supervision as well as the Doctor's,   
you may be able to earn Academy credits as 'distant learner' students for your   
work. If her mother permits, I may wish to assign Naomi to work with you on the   
this. Naomi will have to pass her Academy entrance exam first, of course."  
Icheb said hesitantly, "To work with Naomi on the real cure would be perfect,   
Captain, but I don't know if her mother would let her. Ensign Wildman doesn't   
seem to like me much. But how soon will Naomi take her examination?"  
"She has asked Commander Tuvok to administer the entrance examination the day   
after tomorrow."  
"Captain, I promise I will do my best, whether Naomi can work with me or not.   
And I also promise to keep the Doctor and Commander Tuvok informed--accurately   
informed--of my research."  
"If you are technically an Academy student, you should wear a cadet uniform   
while on duty. Is that acceptable?"  
"I will comply," Icheb replied, with hope beginning to return. If the captain   
was willing to forgive him, perhaps Naomi would, too.  
As Icheb followed Seven out the ready room door, he felt like running towards   
the nearest replicator to make a cadet uniform for himself. He would do anything   
he could to justify the captain's faith in him--and win back Naomi.  
*^*^*^*^*  
After Seven and Icheb were gone, Janeway sat at her desk for a long time   
reflecting upon the subject of obsession. She certainly knew a thing or two   
about them. According to Chakotay, if she ever wanted to find an example of an   
obsessive personality, all she needed to do was look into a mirror.  
One of her obsessions in recent years had been getting home to the Alpha   
Quadrant, for obvious--and very sound--reasons. Destroying the power of the Borg   
was another, and if she needed to kill them all to do it, then so be it. But she   
had to admit, another of her obsessions seemed to be to rescue and return Borg   
drones to individuality. Killing drones or freeing them--which was the best way,   
which offered the best chance for satisfying that first obsession and saving the   
rest of her crew? Janeway pondered the question for a long time, unable to come   
to a definitive conclusion. Perhaps it was out of her hands. The only one who   
could supply the answer--by supplying the means--might be a young man of Brunali   
extraction. Icheb.  
  
Act 3  
The wind came up as it always did late in the afternoons, according to those who   
had been on New Pojzan the longest, usually an hour or so before night fell. Not   
that "night" really ever fell here. Surrounded by the glorious shell of gleaming   
gases which made up the enclosing nebula, New Pojza's night was a dimmer sort of   
day, more like the sky on Terra when a huge thunderhead rolled over, rather than   
true night. And when their aurora borealis flowed in massive, folding draperies   
of electrically-charged light over the rolling hills of lush vegetation which   
upholstered the landscape, Harry couldn't imagine a more beautiful refuge. He   
was glad he'd had the opportunity to do a little sightseeing in this part of the   
Delta Quadrant.  
"We will miss you, Ensign Harry Kim. I wish you could stay longer with us and   
tell us more tales from your homeworld," lamented Lyria, the ancient, yet still   
sharp navigator, who had shown Harry the twisting corridor which provided safe   
passage between the hidden pocket of space within the nebula and the outside   
galaxy.  
"We have a very long journey to make before we get back home. I've got to   
rendezvous with Voyager within the next three of our days or they'll have to   
hold their position and wait for us. I'd hate to do that."  
"Of course. We understand. Outside of the nebula, it is not safe to remain at a   
standstill for long," Caryonna said. "You and your Away Team have been very good   
to us, despite our very sad first meeting . . ." She sighed then, and Harry knew   
what she would say next. "We would be honored if your lost friend Angelo were to   
remain with us always, to become part of our soil, as our own people do when   
their time of ending comes."  
Harry nodded. "Thank you for your kind offer. But, as I said before, my captain   
asked me to return his body to our ship, and I must do as she commands."  
"Of course you must. But we wish you to know our offer is sincere."  
"Believe me, I know it is."  
As the two mature Pojzan females and Harry rounded the hill, a crowd of children   
ran out of the hollow and surrounded them, laughing and calling, "Gratchi, tell   
us a story! Tell us another one about the hobbits!"  
Harry chuckled, but shook his head. "I'm sorry, all my 'gratchillian.' I don't   
have time to tell you any more hobbit stories. We have to go back home in our   
Delta Flyer. But if you're all very patient, maybe you'll still get a chance to   
hear the ones I couldn't tell you." Harry waved his hand in a circular motion   
and, obediently, the children formed a ring and sat down upon the grassy slope.  
When they had all settled down, sitting as patiently as children anywhere do   
when waiting to be told a story they are particularly eager to hear (which is to   
say, not very patiently at all), Harry tapped his comm badge and spoke in a low   
voice. Seconds later, the air sparkled behind him to reveal Noah Lessing and Tal   
Celes. Both held a couple of PADDs balanced upon their fingertips. After bowing   
with due reverence for their contents as they presented them to Harry, Noah and   
Tal flanked their commanding officer, standing at ease while he addressed the   
children and the adults supervising them.  
"You know how much I've enjoyed telling you the adventures of the hobbits every   
evening as we journeyed here. Can you guess why?" Harry asked.  
He called on a smaller child who was waving her hand so energetically above her   
head that Harry was afraid she'd sprain her arm if he didn't acknowledge her.   
"Because we're little like hobbits, but very brave, too!" she said, almost   
squeaking from the excitement of being called upon.  
The other children laughed, but Harry only smiled and said, "That's one of the   
reasons, all right. Can anyone else guess another?"  
This time Harry pointed to an older youth. "Because we choose to make our homes   
under the rock to protect ourselves from the nebula's radiation while we sleep,"   
he responded solemnly, "just like the hobbits live underground?"  
"That's true. You do both live underground. And that's a sound, scientific   
explanation for why you do it. I'm not sure that's why the hobbits did it."  
The little one who had been called upon first said, matter-of-factly, "They did   
it because it's cozy underground." Everyone laughed again.  
Harry nodded to another child, who fairly yelled out before Harry could ask him   
anything, "Because they're good stories, with fights and magic and stuff!"  
The children shouted at that answer, and the Voyager team all laughed, too. The   
answer perfectly fit the personality of this child, one with a very good heart   
who had endured a lot of pain because of the loss of his entire family--but a   
scamp if Harry ever saw one. "You're right again. They are very good stories. In   
fact, the people from my planet have lots of good stories to tell. From the   
Arabian Nights, and the Brothers Grimm, and a man called Hans Christian   
Andersen. And from J.R.R. Tolkien, the man who wrote the ones about the   
hobbits." Harry lifted up the PADDs to let the children see them better. "These   
devices have all his works stored in them, along with the others I mentioned.   
There's a lot of other folklore stories, too. I wish we could stay here and read   
them to you, but we can't. So, we're leaving these stories here. We want to   
share them with you. Enjoy them in peace and happiness. Consider them a gift   
from Noah, James, Tal, and me. Who knows? Maybe some day you'll decide to call   
your planet or your nebula, 'The Shire,' the name the hobbits gave their home."  
The adults motioned the children to stand, saying it was time to say good-bye to   
the Voyager people. The young ones crowded around Harry, who leaned down and   
touched as many of them on the top of the head with his chin as he could, in the   
Pojzan gesture of farewell. Noah and Tal were kept busy the same way until every   
child had received a head touch from one of the crew from the Delta Flyer. As   
the children walked away towards the doorways in the hillside that led down to   
their beds, they waved goodbye to Harry and his team, who had shown that Terran   
farewell gesture to the Pojzan children. Harry wondered if they would forget it   
quickly, or if it might become one of the customs of their people. He hoped they   
would keep doing it. It would be nice to be remembered that way.  
When the children were all gone, it was almost too quiet. The two Pojzan leaders   
and three from the Delta Flyer stood in the open, while the nightly dazzle of   
auroras began their dance overhead. Harry handed the PADDs to Lyria and   
Caryonna. "I know you recorded me telling the story of 'There and Back Again' to   
the older children. That's also called 'The Hobbit.' It's in here. So are the   
other Tolkien stories, especially 'The Lord of the Rings.' The other stories are   
much more serious, for the most part, but I think that after all that has   
happened to you, your people will appreciate them--although there's lots of   
violence and war in them, I have to admit."  
"We hope you like the other stories, too," Noah said. "We found more than we   
expected to find in the Delta Flyer's database. Not all our folklore, but a lot   
of the good ones. And we found some stories from Tal's people, the Bajorans,   
too."  
"This is a marvelous gift. Thank you," Caryonna said, clutching a pair of the   
PADDs in her arms.  
Lyria cradled the PADDs given to her and nodded in agreement. "We will always   
treasure your gift because it will remind us of Harry Kim and the crew of   
Voyager, who were so kind to us and to our children. But they are also a   
treasure because we can't even imagine how many of our own stories were lost   
forever when the Borg destroyed our libraries. These stories will help us   
replace a little of that lost knowledge--even the ones with fighting and wars in   
them. Perhaps someday all beings will live in peace together, but until that   
time we must be prepared to protect what we have. And that is one thing stories   
do. They help teach children to prepare for the future by imagining what else   
can be, as fantastic as it may seem."  
"That is true. Still, we hope you won't have to worry about wars any more. We   
hope you've found a safe haven here," Noah said.  
"We hope so, too," Lyria responded. "And we have a gift, also. A safe haven."  
"Thanks again, Lyria, but we're headed to our own home," Harry said.  
"Of course you are, but we can still offer a safe haven--for others. We   
discussed this with our leaders earlier today, and they agree. This system of   
four planets is very well hidden from the rest of the galaxy. It can easily hold   
many millions, but only a hundred thousand of our people have come here so far.   
Even if all of the remaining Pojzan transport ships we know about get here   
safely, less than a half million Pojzan will be on this planet. I fear we will   
be lucky if any others manage to find their way here at all. Although none of   
the other planets in this system have as pleasant an environment as this one,   
the nebula offers an abundant source of power. We could transform them into good   
places for beings to live upon, too. So, there is plenty of room for those who   
are willing to share these planets and a peaceful co-existence. In your travels,   
you may find others seeking refuge. As long as you are sure they will never   
divulge the location to anyone who would be a danger to us, like the Borg, you   
may send them here."  
"That's an incredibly generous offer," Harry said.  
"No more generous than you, who were attacked when you explored our ship. You   
forgave your attackers and helped us, and our children, to find safety."  
Noah and Tal looked as astonished as Harry felt himself, but he managed to find   
his voice. "You can be sure I will personally send a recorded message along with   
anyone we send, so you'll know we trust them with your secret."  
It was time to say good-bye. Harry, Noah and Tal found it much easier to touch   
their chins upon Lyria's and Caryonna's heads than receiving the gesture from   
the Pojzans, but they managed. As Harry felt the familiar transporter buzz   
surround the Voyager crew, bringing them back to the Delta Flyer, Lyria called   
out as she waved her hand in farewell, "Remember your friends in The Shire,   
Harry Kim." Harry was sure he always would.  
*^*^*^*^*  
  
When he entered Sickbay, Icheb carefully avoided looking in the direction of   
Ensign Wildman, who was treating Brian Sofin's bad ankle on the other side of   
Sickbay. He hoped she would be unable to hear him if he kept his voice low. He   
was uncomfortable having to make his report with her standing there. He had not   
spoken with Naomi in a week, since she had stormed out of the medical labs. He   
had heard that although she had passed her Academy entrance examination, her   
mother had not allowed her to work with Icheb. Even though he had predicted that   
might happened, Icheb had been crushed when it did. He did not wish to confront   
Ensign Wildman about it, however, as matters could become even worse between   
them than they already were.  
He certainly did not need to ask if Ensign Wildman was still upset with him   
about Naomi. She usually turned her back to him whenever he came anywhere near   
her. She was doing it again now.  
Still, reporting to the EMH was very welcome, since it stopped him from thinking   
about how much it hurt to be given the "frigid shoulder," or something like   
that, as Lieutenant Paris had put it yesterday.  
"Doctor?"  
"Yes, Icheb. What is it? Is this a routine report, or have you made a   
discovery?"  
"I wish to report my completion of the modification of the Borg nanoprobes. I   
believe I have found a way to treat Crewmen Gilmore and Pierce, although I   
cannot be sure it will be successful. I hope it will. My research suggests this   
technique may provide even greater protection against assimilation than the one   
you developed for the captain, Commander Tuvok, and Lieutenant Torres several   
months ago. I am not sure if it will also break the connections between Borg   
permanently without killing them, however."  
"You would need to test it, undoubtedly."  
"Yes, Doctor," Icheb agreed, feeling suddenly nervous about his results. "But   
that is a problem. I do not know how to go about the next phase of testing   
without using a humanoid subject. Computer simulations are usually accurate, but   
not always. I would gladly test it upon myself, but I am not a suitable subject   
since I am already disconnected from the Collective. If we test it directly upon   
Crewmen Gilmore and Pierce, it could kill them instead of helping them wake up.   
We could not obtain their consent to be subjects for such testing. And after   
their long comas, it would not be ethical to test the anti-assimilation   
properties of the nanoprobes by injecting them with the unmodified type. If it   
fails to protect them, Na . . . everyone would be upset with me, Doctor."  
"Icheb, that's a lot to worry about all at once. We shall take it one step at a   
time. Does that PADD you're holding contain your test results?" After Icheb's   
affirmative response, the Doctor said, "Hand it over and I'll check your work."  
Icheb gave him the device containing the fruits of his research and waited   
patiently inside the office while the EMH, humming an aria from "The Marriage of   
Figaro," perused its contents.  
"Everything looks in order, Icheb. I agree with you. The next step is to try it   
on a test subject. I'll ask the captain about requesting volunteers from . . ."  
"You don't need to, Doctor. I'll be your guinea pig."  
Both Icheb and the Doctor looked a bit startled as they turned to the doorway of   
the office, where Brian Sofin was lounging against the doorway. Confused, Icheb   
responded, "You are not a guinea pig. You are a human being."  
"Mr. Sofin is referring to the archaic medical research practice of using   
animals for tests to see if a treatment is harmful or efficacious, Icheb. The   
guinea pig was frequently the subject in such trials. Of course, guinea pigs   
never had the opportunity to volunteer personally, as you do, Mr. Sofin. We   
would welcome your assistance--if you really wish to do this."  
"You're looking for a cure for Marla and Darren, aren't you? That's what I want,   
too. And if this treatment can heal these nerves in my ankle, I'd get something   
out of it, too." The young crewman shifted his weight from one foot to another,   
wincing a little from the pain he felt constantly.  
The Doctor nodded. "That would be beneficial, of course. However, this   
experiment would also require the injection of unadulterated Borg nanoprobes to   
test whether assimilation by the Borg can take place after this treatment is   
completed. We hope it will not."  
"Really? Then I definitely want to volunteer."  
Icheb felt compelled to interject, "But Crewman Sofin, if the treatment does not   
work, injecting you with this type of nanoprobe could turn you into a Borg."  
"You're a pretty smart kid, Icheb. I'm willing to bet it will work. But even if   
it doesn't, the Doctor will fix me right up, won't you?"  
"I've certainly had plenty of practice!" The Doctor said archly, with the   
self-satisfied air Lieutenant Paris had told Icheb was called "preening."  
"You're sure, then?" Icheb asked.  
"Yes, I'm sure. It's for Marla."  
"I'll contact the captain," the EMH said. "As long as she approves, we'll begin   
immediately."  
Icheb, acutely aware of Ensign Wildman staring at him through the glass walls of   
the Doctor's office, became even more nervous while waiting for the captain's   
response. When it came, the tension was not relieved immediately; the captain   
asked for the trial to be delayed until she could come to Sickbay to observe the   
procedure.  
While they waited, Icheb considered all that he had accomplished, or at least,   
hoped he had accomplished. He knew he had done the very best he could, managing   
to stay on task and leaving his research on the other nanoprobes alone while he   
worked on these benign, hopefully benevolent ones. It was easier than he thought   
it would be--the others were already so lethal, he had little doubt that even   
without further tampering on his part, they would serve to be a powerful weapon   
against further Borg incursions against Voyager.  
Yet his success in that project was bittersweet. He had lost Naomi's   
companionship as a result of his obsession. And, as Lieutenant Paris had said   
when helping him to clear up his work area and remove the superfluous data from   
his computers, "That genie is really out of the bottle." Icheb had looked up the   
reference in the database and found it was an apt comment--as were most of   
Lieutenant Paris' flippant remarks, when one really looked into them. Now that   
these killer nanoprobes were available, it would be very tempting to use them   
against the Borg. It might be impossible for other drones to have the benefit of   
being rescued from the Collective, as he and Seven had been. It would be far   
easier to deal with the threat by simply killing them, a temptation that might   
be hard to resist.  
When the captain finally arrived, she was accompanied by her first officer. When   
she ordered the trial to begin, Icheb sensed time slowing to a crawl, as if a   
temporal anomaly had suddenly afflicted Sickbay. Lieutenant Paris entered   
Sickbay as well, relieving Ensign Wildman from duty. It was strange, but even   
though Ensign Wildman's presence had made Icheb uneasy, he was saddened when she   
left Sickbay. He had learned that she had been the one who had found out his   
secret about the lethal nanoprobes. He wished she would be present when the   
healing ones did their work--assuming they did what he wanted. And then Icheb   
found himself explaining one more time to those assembled exactly would happen   
to Brian Sofin, if all went according to plan.  
As the EMH injected the former Equinox crewman with the healing nanoprobes,   
Icheb did not know if he could bear the pressure of waiting to see if his   
project would end in success or failure. Maybe it was a good thing Ensign   
Wildman had left.  
*^*^*^*^*  
"Oh, wow! That tingles!" Brian exclaimed, several minutes later. "But the pain   
in my foot is fading away. Doctor, am I imagining it, or is it really healing   
that fast?"  
"Your perceptions are very real, Mr. Sofin," the EMH, said, as he waved his   
medical scanner over the young man's leg. "Your nerves are regenerating at an   
incredible rate. If they act on brain tissue the way they do on peripheral   
nerves, I am very optimistic they will work well on our sleeping shipmates."  
"Doctor, can you check my head . . ." At the sudden burst of laughter, Crewman   
Sofin blushed. "I mean, do a scan of my brain. I had to have surgery once when I   
was on the Equinox. You found evidence of it on your scans when I came on board,   
remember? Can you see if there's any healing going on there?"  
  
"I'd forgotten all about that injury, Mr. Sofin. Any healing there would   
certainly be comparable to . . . my word!"  
"Doctor, don't keep us in suspense!" the captain said in an exasperated tone   
when the EMH failed to follow up his interjection with an explanation.  
"I'm sorry, Captain, but it's simply remarkable! The old scar tissue in his   
brain is simply--disappearing!" The EMH switched on the large scanner, bringing   
up two views of a brain. "This view is of Crewman Sofin during his last   
physical, when my innovative internal imaging scanning techniques were . . ." At   
the sound of the captain's irritated cough, the Doctor stuttered, "Well, my   
camera techniques aren't that important. But compare the older scan of the brain   
with the current one. Can you see how this area is no longer cloudy? Even old   
scar tissue is being converted to healthy brain matter. Captain, I request   
permission to treat Marla Gilmore and Darren Pierce immediately!"  
"The test isn't complete," Brian reminded the Doctor.  
"What? Oh, the anti-assimilation test. We can do that some other time, Crewman."  
"Hey, I'm here now. I'd like to get it over with."  
Lieutenant Paris bobbed his head in agreement, "Doc, if I ran off and used a new   
treatment a few minutes after I'd first tested it, you'd be all over me for   
being too 'impulsive,' or something like that. Finish the test. I don't think   
Marla and Darren are going to mind waiting a few more minutes for their cure."  
"They're right, Doctor," agreed the captain. "Finish the whole test before   
proceeding to the next step."  
Icheb infused a hypospray with a sample of "unsafe" Borg nanoprobes. He   
hesitated when he approached Brian Sofin, who was wriggling nervously in his   
seat while waiting to receive the shot of nanoprobes. Lieutenant Paris seemed to   
understand the problem. Holding out his hand to Icheb, he said, "I'm the field   
medic, Icheb. It's my job."  
Quite possibly it was only an illusion that they all held their breath when   
Lieutenant Paris injected Brian Sofin at the base of the neck with the   
hypospray. Sickbay was eerily silent while they waited for mottled gray flesh   
and metallic devices to explode from out of Brian Sofin's skin. Thirty seconds.   
One minute. Five minutes. Ten.  
"There is no evidence that any implants or a cortical node are being created by   
these Borg nanoprobes. I'd say this experiment is a complete success, Captain.   
Now may I proceed with treating my patients?"  
"By all means, Doctor. Treat your patients!" Captain Janeway exclaimed, sharing   
a grin with Commander Chakotay. A second later, she flashed a proud smile at   
Icheb. He smiled back, a little wearily. After all the tension, Icheb decided   
the only thing he wanted to do was to spend the next several hours regenerating.   
But he couldn't--not yet. There were two more patients who needed to be treated   
by this revolutionary technique. Icheb moved towards the instruments aligned on   
a tray and methodically began to fill them, carefully, with the nanoprobes that   
healed.  
As he turned to hand them to the Doctor and Lieutenant Paris, Icheb noticed that   
two more people had entered Sickbay. Samantha and Naomi Wildman stood just   
inside the door, out of everyone's way. Icheb caught Naomi's eye and noted the   
slight smile which slowly spread across her face. "Well, Icheb? Where are those   
hyposprays?" the Doctor demanded sharply.  
"Sorry," Icheb said quickly, as he handed them to the Doctor and field medic.   
Lieutenant Paris' smile was neither slight nor slow to develop as he accepted   
the one he was to use on Darren Pierce from Icheb.  
At the faint hiss of the hyposprays, Icheb stepped back towards the door of   
Sickbay. His work was done. Now, they only had to wait to see if the comatose   
patients reacted as well to the treatment as Brian Sofin had.  
*^*^*^*^*  
It took almost an hour before Marla began to stir slightly. Several more minutes   
passed before her eyes slowly blinked open. "Hey, there, sleepyhead," Brian   
Sofin said to her as he grabbed her hand. "How long are you going to stay on   
vacation in here? Lieutenant Torres has been tapping her feet, waiting for you   
to come back to work."  
Weakly but visibly to all the watchers, Marla squeezed his hand back. Her voice   
was only a whisper when she answered, "Tell her I'll be back in a minute."  
Naomi wanted to cheer, but in deference to the fact that Darren Pierce was also   
stirring in his biobed, the reaction of everyone was subdued. The happiness,   
however, was genuine.  
When she heard first the EMH, and then Commander Chakotay and Captain Janeway   
congratulate Icheb upon a job well done, Naomi felt so happy for him. He   
deserved the captain's praise. Naomi wanted to go to him herself, but in the   
jostling of those around the biobeds coming to greet to Marla and Darren, she   
lost sight of him. When she moved in the clear, she realized Icheb was no longer   
standing where he had been. The hissing glide of the doors of Sickbay caught her   
attention just in time for her to turn and see him stride out of Sickbay.  
Naomi managed to get to the doors just before they closed completely, quickly   
enough to catch a glimpse of Icheb's back as he slipped into the medical lab.   
"Icheb! Wait for me!"  
He turned to look at her over his shoulder. She wasn't sure how to interpret the   
expression on his face. When she caught up with him, she found she didn't know   
quite what to say. Finally, she whispered, "I'm so proud of you, Icheb," and   
gave him a soft, chaste peck on the cheek.  
"You no longer hate me, Naomi?" he asked, stumbling over the words a little.  
"Oh, Icheb, I never hated you. I got angry at you, but that didn't mean I . . .   
I didn't love you any more."  
He immediately began to blush deep red. From the sudden warmth coming to her   
face, she knew hers must be as bright as his. Sublimely happy, Naomi leaned her   
head against Icheb's chest. She felt him put his arms around her very gently and   
give her the sweetest hug she could ever remember.  
From out of the corner of her eye, Naomi saw Lieutenant Paris glance into the   
lab as he left Sickbay. She should pull out of Icheb's arms. After all, whatever   
could she say if her mother came out and saw them, too? But Lieutenant Paris   
didn't say anything. He just winked at Naomi. A second later the med lab's doors   
swished to a close, leaving Naomi and her Icheb in blissful privacy.  
Act 4  
"Hello, Commander," Harry said to Chakotay as his team filed out of the Delta   
Flyer.  
"How are you doing, Ensign?"  
"As well as can be expected, considering I lost a member of my crew," Harry   
answered. "But the Pojzan are safe within their nebula. I've brought back   
messages for the captain, assuring her of the Pojzan's gratitude and good will,   
information about their zeta drive they were willing to share with us--and some   
gases from the nebula to compensate in a small way for the supplies I didn't get   
from the 'derelict ship.' And," he sighed, "I'm bringing back the body of Angelo   
Tessoni, which had been stored in stasis all this time. It was an expensive   
trip, sir."  
Chakotay clapped him on the shoulder. "It's always hard when you lose someone.   
But there's good news from Sickbay. Marla Gilmore and Darren Pierce are finally   
awake and making good progress."  
"That's wonderful, Commander," Noah Lessing said, his serious expression   
brightening at the news.  
Morrow asked, "As soon as we get the Flyer cleared out, would it be okay if we   
went to see them?"  
"Of course. In fact, you can go right away. I can call a team in to clear out   
the Flyer."  
Harry began to demur, "It's my responsibility to take care of all my crew, sir.   
And then there's the gases in the Bussard collectors . . ."  
"Harry, you have to come. We have to tell her about Angelo. We'd really want you   
there when we do. Tal, you're coming, too, right?" Noah said.  
"I will if you will, sir," Tal said to Harry.  
Harry still seemed somewhat reluctant until Chakotay said, "It will be fine,   
Harry. In fact, it's an order."  
"All right, Commander," Harry said, unwilling to disobey his commanding officer.  
As Harry and his team left the shuttle bay, they failed to notice Icheb and   
Seven EMH slipping inside the Delta Flyer. Chakotay followed the ex-Borg at a   
more leisurely pace, stepping down into the lower compartment where the biobed   
and stasis chamber were located. As he reached the bottom of the steps, he was   
just in time to see the body of Angelo Tessoni shimmering away.  
"To Sickbay?" Chakotay asked.  
"Yes, Commander," replied Icheb. "Although his prognosis is uncertain because he   
suffered anoxia from major blood loss and sustained a serious head injury."  
"Very serious," Seven agreed. "The Doctor will need to perform a surgical   
procedure to reshape his skull before we try any other therapy, but it is worth   
the attempt, Commander."  
"Good. I have to report to the captain. You'd better get to Sickbay yourselves   
to assist the Doctor."  
*^*^*^*^*  
Despite his own gloom from coming back shy of one team member from his mission,   
the atmosphere in Sickbay was remarkably different from when he'd last been   
there. Only two biobeds were in use, and their occupants were chatting with Sam   
Wildman as Harry's team entered Sickbay.  
Marla smiled as soon as she caught sight of Noah and James. "It's so good to   
have you back, safe and sound!" she said.  
"Well, not all of us are safe, Marla," Noah said with a sigh. "We lost Angelo on   
the mission."  
"I know. The Doctor told me." Harry was glad so see how calm she was. It as a   
good thing she'd already been told. It made this visit easier. "He also told me   
something else. He said that several people spent a lot of their free time   
visiting me while I was 'asleep.' " Marla held her hand out to Harry. "I seem to   
remember hearing voices. Tom told me you had been one of the ones who read to   
me. I want to thank you for that."  
Harry gave her proffered hand a squeeze. "I'll keep on reading to you, if you   
want me to."  
"I wouldn't mind a clarinet concert every now and then, either."  
"Done," Harry said, his heart a little less heavy. "But I think we should leave.   
You need to get your rest."  
"I think I've been getting too much rest lately, right, Darren?" Marla asked her   
neighbor.  
"Way too much," Darren agreed. "Why don't you get your clarinet and play for   
us?"  
"I will if you want me to," Harry agreed, glancing at Tal Celes, who had been   
whispering with Darren while they had been talking to Marla. "I'll be back in a   
few."  
"Okay, Harry." Marla gave him a quick hug and he left them, never even noticing   
the activity that had suddenly commenced behind the opaqued shield of the   
surgical bay.  
*^*^*^*^*  
After Harry left, Tal Celes asked, "What's this about a new treatment?"  
"You were around when Neelix was killed on an away mission and Seven was able to   
resurrect him, weren't you?" Marla asked.  
"Sure."  
"Icheb came up with a variation on that treatment. That's what brought Marla and   
me out of our comas," Darren elaborated. "If you three stick around, we'll see   
if they can pull it off one more time."  
"You mean Angelo . . ."  
"We hope so, Mr. Lessing," the EMH said as he emerged briefly from behind the   
shield. "We very much hope so."  
*^*^*^*^*  
"Seven and Icheb are optimistic about Angelo Tessoni, Kathryn. No guarantees,   
but he has a chance. They've initiated the procedure."  
"That's the best we can hope for, Chakotay. And go right ahead. You can say it."  
"Say what?" Chakotay replied, completely in the dark about what she was talking   
about.  
"You can say, 'I told you so' about the Equinox people. You were absolutely   
right. All they needed was the opportunity to show their bravery and loyalty to   
this ship and her crew."  
His smile glowed. "Ah, I agree. They've all done well, but the way Brian   
volunteered to be the guinea pig for Icheb's vaccine impressed me. Anyone who   
allows himself to be injected with live Borg nanoprobes, risking   
assimilation--that's bravery 'above and beyond the call,' although there seems   
to have been a lot of that sort of bravery around here lately."  
She smiled at him crookedly, not missing his double meaning. "Yes, there has,   
Commander, and the next thing I'd like to do is work with you on something to   
send through the next data stream transmission to Starfleet. I want to file a   
report about how the Equinox crew have proven that they, too, deserve to be   
treated the same as any of Voyager's crew. A glowing, praise-filled report.   
Nothing lukewarm about it."  
Chakotay's grin became wider. "I'll be happy to, Kathryn."  
"And there's one other thing. I've got a list here I'd like you to look over . .   
. see if you approve." She handed him a PADD, which he studied for quite a   
while.  
He was still smiling, but with a shade of uncertainty, as he finished it. "I   
have absolutely no problem with these promotions, Kathryn, but do you really   
think Starfleet will approve them? Any of them, in fact?"  
"One shouldn't be a problem. And Gilmore's case will be a good test of what the   
Admiralty intends to do, won't it?"  
"And Seven? Do you think she'll go along with a field commission?"  
"The only way to find out is to ask her, Chakotay."  
"And if Starfleet won't go along with our recommendations? What then?"  
Janeway stared at the list he was holding for quite a while, considering all the   
factors. Finally she said, "I don't really care whether they go along with them   
or not. As you've been saying for quite a while, as long as we're out here in   
the Delta Quadrant, how much will it really matter? If we get back in five   
years, or ten years, what then? Only our own crew's morale would really be   
affected. We have to be concerned about our own. Starfleet can worry about how   
'appropriate' it would be to have more officers on a ship the size of Voyager."  
"Then maybe we should just go ahead and do it first, and ask for their approval   
afterwards. Let the Admiralty deal with it as a fait accompli."  
The captain laughed huskily. "That's the spirit, Commander."  
*^*^*^*^*  
Epilogue  
Neelix had outdone himself with the decorations. Starfleet and Federation flags   
were everywhere. An elaborate array of drinks, finger foods and snacks crowded   
the mess hall counter. And everyone was in uniform. Neelix's, admittedly, was   
formal wear well-suited to his role of ambassador, but everyone else wore a   
Starfleet uniform of one type or another.  
Icheb and Naomi were resplendent in their brand-new cadet uniforms. A stream of   
people were passing by, making the sort of fuss that, privately, Janeway   
believed both richly deserved. Icheb was praised for his medical discovery,   
while Naomi was being congratulated for passing her entrance exams. Icheb's   
achievement was plain to see, since the beneficiaries of his research were among   
those enjoying the evening's festivities. And for anyone to pass those   
examinations when barely seven years old was a remarkable feat, no matter how   
quickly the applicant matured. Kathryn Janeway was proud of Naomi and Icheb, as   
she was of her entire crew. Had any captain ever had a better one? She doubted   
it.  
A small knot of people constantly milled around one person's chair, greeting him   
and generally just wishing him well. The captain decided to become one of them.   
She had a question she wanted to ask anyway.  
"Good evening, Mr. Tessoni," Janeway said as she approached him. "I'm glad the   
Doctor released you for the ceremony. How are you feeling today?"  
He was wan and thin, but his smile was the one she remembered from that day in   
her ready room. "Much better, thank you, Captain. The Doctor didn't have much   
choice about releasing me, though. I threatened to hide his mobile emitter so he   
couldn't go unless he let me come, too."  
"Don't expect to make a late night of it, Mr. Tessoni," the EMH sniffed from his   
position immediately behind the young man's chair. "Remember, I'm monitoring you   
every second. At the slightest irregularity, you may expect to be whisked back   
to Sickbay."  
"I'll make sure he behaves himself, Doctor. I'm still waiting for him to make   
good on that love note he owes me," Tal chided from her seat next to Angelo.  
"You're going to have to wait until I'm not so dizzy from all these nanoprobes   
running around inside my head . . . ." he joked, leaning in towards Tal and   
whispered something into her ear which sounded a bit like "celestial" to   
Janeway's ears. The pretty Bajoran blushed, but, Janeway noted, she didn't move   
away from her seat next to Angelo. She had to admit the man was doing pretty   
well for someone who had been placed in stasis and pronounced as dead a couple   
of weeks before.  
After Janeway had moved from the convalescent's part to that of her chief   
engineer and helmsman, she recalled she'd meant to ask Angelo if Giovanna was   
related to him, and if so, how. After the ceremony, she really must remember to   
do that.  
Next to B'Elanna, a graceful figure in teal and black stood. Janeway leaned in   
towards her to ask, "I've got a couple of extra pips, Seven, if you've changed   
your mind."  
"Thank you, but no, Captain. I'm still mulling over your offer."  
"You look very good in that uniform," Janeway said, still hopeful.  
"I've decided to wear the uniform from now on with or without the status of an   
officer, Captain. All the Maquis wear it. Now that Icheb and Naomi both are   
wearing cadet uniforms since being granted 'distant learner' status at Starfleet   
Academy, it seemed pointless to refuse any longer."  
Janeway resisted the impulse to make any reference to "resistance is futile."   
She suspected the joke would not go over well.  
When Chakotay signaled her from across the mess hall, Janeway raised her glass   
to acknowledge him. Walking to the front center of the room and placing her   
glass upon the lectern Neelix had fabricated, she took her place next to him.   
The buzzing of conversations died down rapidly. Everyone knew the reason for the   
gathering tonight. They wanted to get past the ceremonial aspects and back to   
the party, she guessed. That suited her, as well.  
"As you know, I've held the line on promotions for more than six years, giving   
them out to only a very few. Now that we're in contact with Starfleet, I've   
decided I may have been too cautious. And after the bravery and devotion to duty   
I've seen in the past weeks from all of you as you fought off our attackers and   
returned Voyager to specifications, despite the degree of damage we sustained,   
the time has come to reward those whose contributions to this ship can no longer   
be ignored."  
At Janeway's nod, four members of the crew took their places in a row in front   
of their two most senior officers.  
"Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, for your courage under fire and brilliance in   
engineering, I raise your field commission to the status of full lieutenant.   
Congratulations, B'Elanna."  
As soon as the new Maquis full lieutenant's rank insignia was attached to her   
collar, Neelix called out, "You'd better be careful now, Tom. She outranks you   
again," to general laughter from the assembly. When the chuckling had died down,   
Janeway picked up another Maquis insignia, exactly like the one she had just   
bestowed upon her chief engineer.  
"Lieutenant Michael Ayala, for your services as Commander Tuvok's right hand man   
in Security, particularly for instituting the improved security measures that   
recently were tested to the utmost, from lieutenant j.g. to full lieutenant."   
The tall, generally quiet man bent down and received his new rank insignia from   
his captain, a huge grin upon his face.  
"To Ensign Harry Kim, whose loyal service to the crew of this ship have long   
been sufficient to justify my granting him a lieutenant's pip, but whose   
diplomatic and humanitarian efforts with the Pojzan deserve special mention.   
Here it is, Harry, at long last." Harry was positively beaming as she positioned   
the gleaming black pip upon his collar, and whispered congratulations to him.  
Her mind churned over how she should word the last citation. It would be   
controversial back at Starfleet, but it was something she simply had to do. Let   
the Admiralty decide to take it away, if they dared. When Janeway recalled how   
far Marla Gilmore had come, from the young Equinox officer whose nerves had been   
frayed so badly she couldn't even bring herself to travel by turbolift on   
Voyager, to the crewman who had remained at her post while the Borg were   
literally tearing people apart all around her, she was finally able to formulate   
what she would say.  
"And last, but certainly not least . . . Marla Gilmore . . . when you first   
became a member of this crew, I stripped away this pip from your collar and said   
you would have to earn my trust and that of your shipmates to get it back. It is   
abundantly clear you have done just that. You acted to save this ship and its   
crew from its enemies at the very grave risk of your own life. For this action   
in particular, I am recommending you for the Star Cross, for gallantry. And I am   
reinstating you to the rank of ensign. Congratulations, Ensign Gilmore."  
As loud as the cheers had been for Harry Kim, those for the newly minted ensign   
were even louder. As Janeway placed the ensign's pip to Marla's collar, the   
emotions of the young woman were easy to read, spilling over into tears of joy.   
Janeway felt her own eyes grow a bit misty. Those who had survived the hell of   
serving on the Equinox faced an uncertain future in the Alpha Quadrant, but so   
long as they served on Voyager, they would be treated with respect. And this   
crew member--or rather, this ensign--would hold the rank she so richly deserved.  
*^*^*^*^*  
When the cheers died down, there was one more tradition to be followed. Tom gave   
B'Elanna a buss on the lips to congratulate her on her promotion, just the way   
she had kissed him on the bridge on the day the captain reinstated him to   
lieutenant.. Tom didn't see who had given Ayala his kiss, but Tom had thought   
Seven might oblige Harry. She was still standing at the edge of the room,   
however, next to Icheb, Naomi, and Sam Wildman. Instead, Harry was kissing   
Marla, while she returned the favor to Harry. Tom heard rather than saw that   
B'Elanna saw it, too, thanks to her audible groan, but before she had a chance   
to make any comments, Harry and Marla were walking towards them, smiling   
broadly.  
"Well, now, old buddy. You're going to have to get used to being the same rank   
as me all over again, Tom," Harry teased.  
"Maybe so, Harry," B'Elanna said with a smirk. "but I outrank you both. And   
don't you forget it!"  
"I would never dream of forgetting it, B'Elanna! I mean, Lieutenant Torres!" he   
laughed.  
While B'Elanna and Marla were exchanging congratulations, Tom stood near Harry,   
listening to the females chatter for a few moments before it slipped out. "Nice   
kiss, Harry."  
"Tom, don't even think it. It's not like that at all. We're just good friends.   
There's nothing happening between us. Nothing at all."  
"I'll bet you wouldn't mind if something did, though, Harry," Tom mused.  
"That's it! I'm going! Marla, do you want to get a bite of something to eat? I   
hear Neelix has been cooking all day . . ."  
As the new lieutenant and restored ensign moved towards the buffet tables, Tom   
and B'Elanna closed ranks, shaking their heads. It was on the tip of Tom's   
tongue, but B'Elanna said it first. "Harry really is falling hard for her."  
"Yup," Tom agreed. "Buster Kincaid is at it again."  
*^*^*^*^*  
End  
  
  
  
Coming next: When Captain Janeway helped free the drones of Unimatrix Zero, she   
never dreamed what the consequences might be. Now the freed drones of the Borg   
cube, Trefla have to find out for themselves, "What Price Freedom?" 


End file.
